Mary Johnlocked
by hannah.grahamlecter
Summary: Slightly AU. Basically an idea I had last year. A love triangle sort of thing between Mary, John and Sherlock. TW: Contains self harm. Rated M for precaution. Probably just a T
1. Chapter 1

"I don't love you." Those piercing words, He couldn't forget. Sherlock had known the truth for a while now but he had never loved before. Not like that anyway. He denied all. Living in a false reality. He was left walking down the streets of London alone. The only light being street lamps, he was well hidden. Wearing his usual dark attire. He stepped carefully down the old worn out paving when rain started to fall. At first it was just spitting, then the heavens opened. Within seconds it had turned torrential. He wondered whether or not to get a cab, as he usually would but he really wasn't in the mood and at that moment in time he wanted to get lost. In his own little world.

He needed a case. He needed to get distracted. There hadn't been anything in weeks. As he stumbled in through the door of his home Watson looked up from his laptop screen and noticed something was up with Sherlock. Not even acknowledging his house mate he headed to his room and picked up his weapon of choice. A silver blade. Sitting down, trying hard not to cry. He hadn't cried in years. Not since... then. When he was just a young boy. He didn't want to cry now. It would show he was weak. He needed to release the pain some other way. A private way in which only he would know about. Putting the blade up to his left forearm he slowly dragged it across and repeated all the way up until he reached the elbow. The release he needed till hadn't occurred so he chose his wrist as his next area of choice. Slicing down across the vein. He knew he wouldn't die from it. Finally all was done. After cleaning up and putting on extra layers in-case blood was to seep though he hid the blade back; back, to where it was before.

What's with the gloomy face Sherlock?" Bored are we?" Mrs Hudson asked joking. An aware of

what had happened. Sherlock ignored her, he heard. Oh he heard aright but he pretended he hadn't. He wasn't in the mood for talking and he was even less in the mood for joking. Sitting opposite John he grumbled and the doctor looked up, stopping reading is newspaper. "Sherlock I'm trying to read. I don't care about you being bored." Watson knew this was usually the cause of his moaning and the shooting at midnight. Oh that shooting it did get on the doctor's nerves but he couldn't leave Sherlock. He felt safe,special. He felt something he had never felt before.

Sherlock was silent still. Annoyed with peoples jokes, assumptions and random conclusion jumping to. He was hurt. He didn't need all of this. Looking at John from across the other side of the room he sighed. He had sexual feelings towards him since they first met. He just denied it. Being gay was wrong. He couldn't... not John... Sherlock gazed into his glistening eyes and smiled peacefully watching the doctor's every move.

This was wrong he couldn't get involved in a relationship now. Not ever. Sherlock had everything cleverly planned out. He would have to die. Or at least make everyone think he was dead and he didn't know how long for. He couldn't get with Watson NOW. It was the wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong circumstances. He kept telling himself that but the feelings, they were strong. He was not sure why. Young Sherlock. Incredible intelligence yet confused about his own sexuality.

Not just confused but embarrassed. Yes Sherlock was embarrassed. Throughout his life he was taught man to woman. Woman to man. Well up until... THAT. The event. He had to forget it pained him so bad the memories. Why he started on heroin actually. Came down from that. Recovered and he started on tobacco. He needed those memories gone. They were messing with him. Messing with his relationships. Messing with his mind.

What the detective did know was that there was no way on earth he could openly admit his feeling towards the doctor. Sherlock would have to trick him. Play a series of games with him. Trick Watson into thinking he was the one who made the first move then sherlock wouldn't have to admit to anything apart from giving the man he shared his home with a good time.

Sherlock set straight to work. His plan had to be in place tonight. It was the perfect night for such an event.

Perfect. This will be perfect. The detective thought to himself. Now dearest doctor Watson would never know Mr Holmes true feelings.

The ever so talented detective smiled with glee, secretly very pleased with his work. He had created the perfect cocktail of drugs. Sneakily he ventured into the kitchen. Watson wouldn't know what had hit him.

"Sherlock! Is that Sherlock in the kitchen!" Mrs Hudson came in from doing the shopping. Watson was shocked, looking up from his newspaper he was very shocked indeed. At first he thought he was hallucinating. The detective did everything but cooking besides food was hardly a priority he lived of nothing but caffeine and sugar while on a case.

"Mrs Hudson don't you have some business to attend to." Sherlock prompted. He wanted this night to be something special. The perfect night. Just him and his dearest doctor.

"Oh yes. That's right Sherlock. I must have forgot." Mrs Hudson replied to his prompting and scurried back out the door leaving the two men together. Sherlock smirked soon his Coq au Vin would be ready. He also had a freshly made Tarte Tatin made by his mother for Mycroft. Sherlock however being the genius he is managed to possess the french dessert himself. He needed a starter. He thought. What could we have for starter. Sherlock smiled. He knew it was more an after dinner thing but there's no problem for being a little quirky and it would be best to get something wrong, keeping John Watson's suspicions at bay.

"Dinner is served" Sherlock called after pouring the wine and dropping the drug into Dr Watson's glass and giving it a swirl making sure it had dissolved into an unsuspecting solution.

The two dined almost in silence. John was shocked and Sherlock was nervous. What if his plan didn't pay off? They were nearing the end of the final course. Dr Watson was growing suspicious. Sherlock wanted something. He definitely wanted something. Sherlock would never go to so much effort for someone otherwise.

After finishing the meal Watson politely thanked Sherlock and excused himself from the table. For some strange reason he found himself not on HIS chair but the sofa. Watson had started to feel a bit woozy, dizzy. Almost as if he was drunk. He didn't attribute it to Sherlock. The drugs Sherlock had slipped in stopped the doctor from thinking clearly.

"Hey sleepyhead" Sherlock walked over and smiled. All was going well. Just as he planned. This would be perfect. Mr Holmes smiled a little. Watson was completely out of it now . It was time for Sherlock to make his move. As long as John didn't find out it wouldn't cause him any harm. Well that's how Sherlock justified what was going to happen.

It was the morning after Sherlock awoke still on top of John who much to Sherlocks surprise had slept through the night despite the weight of the detective being on him for the best part of eight hours. Hurriedly the detective got up and shoved his dressing gown on also his underpants which seemed to have not made their way back onto him the previous night.

After making all look unsuspecting for when John finally awoke he ventured back into that unfamiliar kitchen. He actually found he quite enjoyed cooking for dearest John. Pancakes. Pancakes. Perfect pancakes. Pancakes, pancakes, pancakes. The detective had to think back quite far for this one. Last time he made pancakes he was just a boy. 13, maybe 14 years old. He made them in a compulsory school cookery class, commonly known today as food technology. Briefly visiting his mind palace he remembered and set to work making the perfect blueberry and banana pancakes topped with either maple syrup or peanut butter. Whichever the Doctor fancied.

"Wow Sherlock! You sure are a dab hand in the kitchen!" Watson exclaimed with shock. Once again he had surprised the dr. Who knew Sherlock could cook! Not only once but twice and just for John. There must be a catch. Watson did suspect something but the drugs weren't quite out of his system. He still wasn't thinking straight. For now Watson was happy, he enjoyed Sherlocks change of character. It was for the better.

Sherlock on the other hand was reflective and in a way he was upset. He had enjoyed his romancing with the Dr but tomorrow he had to fake his death. Their time together would come to an end for at least six months. If not more and A LOT can happen in six months.


	2. Chapter 2

About a month had passed since Sherlock's death and Poor Watson: absolutely devastated, was sitting in the waiting room of his therapists office. After what seemed like an eternity to the dr who was nervously tapping his feet, the woman who had the session prior to his came out. For some strange reason both caught eye contact and Watson… He felt something something special. Standing up he tripped over his shoelaces awestruck by this drop dead gorgeous woman. Maybe there was hope after all.

"Are you ok?" She asked looking down at him before putting her hand out to help him up. In doing so she planted a slip of paper with her number into his right palm.

"Y...yes I'm good."

"Well hello then good. I'm Mary." She winked at him and gave a cheeky smile before heading off back home.

This was all so strange, Not right at all. Not in the slightest. John thought to himself while walking down the never ending corridor to meet with his therapist after being diagnosed with PTSD after Sherlock's rather dramatic and seemingly staged suicide.

Watson sighed, after exiting the therapist he still wondered. Did Sherlock hate Watson so much that he would cook for him and be nice to him then force the Dr to watch him die? Did sherlock REALLY think suicide was a game? Despite the therapy sessions it was clear Watson was very confused and damaged by all of this. He needed a distraction, that's what his therapist said and what better distraction than calling Mary. The drop dead gorgeous woman from earlier.

"Tonight. 7pm. L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon. Ok. See you there." This was the main part of their call. After saying goodbye Watson put the phone down and smiled to himself. He was very pleased he had managed to get a date with Mary. At first glance she was flawless by design.

"Well Hello there handsome man. Watson isn't it? Dr John Watson." Mary asked although she already knew his name.

"Yes my lady. Indeed I am Dr John Watson, Mary Morstan."

"Well shall we go to our table?" Mary asked and took his hand as they walked, directed by their water to their table on a balcony by a big open window with fairy lights hanging, giving the room a romantic and magical feel. What made it special was that it was only them and one other couple on the balcony. The two couples seemed miles apart. Not like one of those busy, bustling, loud restaurants where you can hardly be heard.

The two chatted about the most strange of things, looking at the menu they found it funny that they both ordered exactly the same starter and main. To John it seemed they were perfect for eachother. True love. He thought he had finally found the one.

Mary laughed then took a sip of her drink. Suddenly her phone made that signature sound. The sound she had set for a certain being. It was "popcorn" the muse version of course. This special someone was most suited to that particular version. "Sorry I have to take this." Mary told Dr Watson and went into the loo's to answer the call.

"Mary. Darling. My beautiful girl. Hows the plan? Working?" The thought to be desesced man asked her.

"Yes my handsome detective. Yes. All's going very well."She replied then quickly said her goodbyes before rushing back to the plan. "Work sorry. It was urgent" Mary said her apologies hurriedly before sitting down.

"What do you do?" Watson asked her realising she knew his job but he didn't know hers.

"Events organiser." Mary replied, naming the first thing she thought of that could involve random

calls in the middle of a date. Besides in a way she was organising. And she was planning. The phone call was also from a supposed superior. So she could say it was work calling because as her beloved called it. "Looking after my dear Dr Watson" was her job.


End file.
